Run: 2026-03-06-01KK1GRHB7PCJSEYYNMFW497DN

Molly and Bill crouched behind the municipal hedge, the one trimmed into a rabbit with a tragic underbite, and studied the battlefield of balloons. Across the lawn, a children’s party raged with the lawless energy of a tiny dictatorship: paper crowns askew, cake smeared like war paint, a clown folding balloons with the grim focus of a bomb technician. In the center, beneath a gazebo strung with bunting, sat the mountain of presents, gleaming in cartoon paper and guarded only by a distracted aunt and a spaniel in a tutu. Bill adjusted his cap and squinted through opera glasses he’d stolen from someone much richer and far less vigilant. “In, grab, out,” he whispered. “Brilliant,” Molly muttered. “And if the clown sees us?” “We become entertainment.” Molly checked the contents of her satchel: rope, torch, fake invitations, and a slice of sausage roll she considered strategic. Bill, meanwhile, had brought marbles, a smoke pellet, and entirely too much confidence. Together they had the posture of professionals and the planning habits of escaped geese. A gust carried the smell of icing and impending disaster. Molly smiled the way burglars do when they’ve mistaken a terrible idea for a clever one. Then the spaniel looked up, tutu trembling, and began to growl.